


Prisoner of War

by Mooncatx



Series: Prisoner - Amelie LaCroix [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Captivity, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mind Games, Psychological Torture, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 20:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14245440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mooncatx/pseuds/Mooncatx
Summary: Widowmaker is captured by Overwatch - 8 chapters combined into one document.  Part of ongoing series.  It's all about Widowmaker.  Exploring Amelie LaCroix who became Widowmaker.  Flashbacks.  Captivity.  My nice fluffy femslash smut got ambushed by McCree.  He's a bad, bad man.  And other stuff.





	Prisoner of War

 

 

 

 

**PRISONER OF WAR**

**Chapter 1:**

An OverWatch Fan Fiction

By Mooncatx the _Bliss Crimson_

 

**Amelie LaCroix - Widowmaker**

 

She woke like the snap of broken bone. One moment nothingness, the next abrupt, acute awareness. The throb of pain so pervasive she could barely control the urge to retch. Instead iron will kept her still, supple, body relaxed as if she were still unconscious. There was no fuzziness to her memories. She remembered with embarrassing clarity running right into the little cadre Of Overwatch agents, at of all things a coffee shop

She'd stopped more on whim than anything else. Subtle scents of hazelnut and caramel mixed with the bitter richness of freshly roasted beans had lured her in. It was after mission and her time was her own for a while. Reaper had already disappeared in his midnight smoke for parts unknown, leaving Sombra and herself to their own devices in the Marrakesh marketplace. Sombra had quickly lost herself in the mass of humanity that washed like ocean through the tangled labyrinth of shops, stalls, and carts that was the local bazaar, leaving Widowmaker to amuse herself.

The most recent firefight only hours ago was now a dusty memory, and they were all in need of a little decompression. This oasis in what was otherwise hundreds if not thousands of miles of dessicated desert had seemed the best spot for rest and relaxation. It made sad sense that Overwatch had the same idea. Only hours ago, Overwatch and Talon operatives had fought in bitter contest over yet another payload of controversial tech. Sometimes Widowmaker wondered if OverWatch agents even knew what they were escorting, or if it mattered as long as they knew it was something Talon wanted. Sometimes it wasn't about the objective, but simply keeping it from your nemesis. Yet, lately missions were beginning to blur together. There was monotony in repetition. Even the bright moments of the kill were beginning to dim as that annoying medic, Mercy, kept reviving people after Widowmaker had taken them out with a crisp clean head shot. A sudden golden glow later and Amelie might as well have not have wasted the bullet. Merde!

Though in this recent run in she might have to give the golden haired healer her due. The recollection of a sudden crunch as Reinhardt's warhammer struck her own too fragile skull from behind. Bash! And she was down before her surprise could even register. The last coherent memory was Mcree's metal tipped boot stomping down to finish what the German giant had started. She should be dead. She probably sustained enough trauma for critical injury, if not outright termination. But for all the sensation of nausea and exquisitely painful ache, LaCroix knew she was fortunate to be alive enough to still suffer. The sound of raised voices scraped along her senses, it was moments before she could focus through the misery to understand what was happening. A babble of Arabic mixed almost equally with French, punctuated with earthy English and German curses from Reinhardt and McCree. Mercy's slightly more bearable, professionally soothing vocals lilted through the chaos, trying to settle the uproar. Of course there would be an uproar. The imbeciles had technically assaulted her on foreign soil, without the least legal authority. While Overwatch might have her on their shit list, Amelie LaCroix wasn't wanted for crimes in Morocco, fils de pute, she wasn't even a person of interest locally. Marrakesh through the ages was a world market with very… flexible mores. Nothing offered was free, and anything not offered had a price. She had felt comfortable with her legal status enough to walk freely, alone, in the city streets. She hadn't been so casually off guard for a long while, and it had cost her most dear.

It was in her favor though, that the Overwatch agents had overstepped their bounds. Amelie had never been caught or prosecuted for her actions as a Talon operative. She had no real criminal record, even if intelligence agencies world wide might have a file on her alleged activities. Meanwhile Overwatch had been publicly disgraced and disbanded. Overwatch was in fact, in a grey area where their merely existing as Overwatch was a criminal act in most parts of the world. Acting even as civilians, not affiliated with Overwatch, they would be culpable for attacking like thugs and beating her down in a public shop. They had screwed up. Royally. But that would not be enough to save her from getting plucked off the street and dumped into an Overwatch interrogation cell. That would be the death of her after all. Even if Overwatch didn't end her with their information extraction methods, Gerard had meant too much to too many of them for her not to have a convenient accident. As well, Talon might get to her first. Less likely a rescue as a tying off of a loose spider's silken thread. Sooner than later, Talon would see to it that her cupid's bow lips were sealed against spilling secrets of any kind.

Despite Overwatch's mouth service to being the Good Guys, Widowmaker knew too well that it's shadow side, BlackWatch had given Talon some of it's most elite operatives. Overwatch and Talon were near kin, and there was no such vicious rivalry as between closest blood. There was small hope for mercy… She almost smiled, Well, perhaps the soft hearted medic could be worked, if all else failed. Reinhardt was one of Overwatch's founding members. He and Gerard had been close as only brothers in arms could be. The German warrior would not be kind to the woman who had killed Gerard LaCroix in their marriage bed. McCree had been BlackWatch, and a Deadlock Gang member before that. Her blood was still smeared wet on his boots. No, her only chance if she were to be taken in by OverWatch would be through the medical agent Mercy. She too had been a friend of Gerard, but her call sign, manner, and the obvious fact that Amelie yet breathed and had yet a reasonably intact skull, indicated that manipulating the healer was the course of action that would be the most beneficial. If Overwatch managed to bring her into custody. Catching Widowmaker was one thing. Keeping her was entirely another.

The bite of rope around her wrists and ankles constricted even more as stealthily she tested the bindings. The cowboy had apparently hogtied her after Mercy had repaired the more dire damage that Widowmaker had taken. When she won her freedom, Amelie knew she'd enjoy a slow hunt with the hombre. His death would be bright indeed. She nearly shivered, the anticipation of the thrill almost warming her cold blood.

**Angela Ziegler - Mercy**

Mercy swept an uneasy eye over the still limp form of Widowmaker. Reinhardt's blow had been swift and certain doom, striking the dark haired french sniper like a crack of thunder. His face had been like stone, like death. McCree had been quick to follow up with a stomp to put Widowmaker out and keep her out. Mercy wasn't certain if they'd meant to kill the Talon agent outright in the middle of the cafe, in front of dozens of eye witnesses. The shocked onlookers were convinced Overwatch was the criminal party in what looked like to the casual observer, an unprovoked attack. Angela would have face palmed, if she were not so busy smoothing over the outrage of local authorities. It was easier to do that without a corpse on the ground. However the hogtied Widowmaker, looking delicate and feminine in her casual street attire, was not doing their image any great favors. The moment the Talon agent woke up and started to work the locals, things could get infinitely worse. As if cued by Angela's thoughts, a ragged wail broke from the captured woman's lips. Artfully sobbed pleas for succor in that soft breathy French. Amelie LaCroix looked as helpless as a kitten, and those lambent gold eyes opened wide, shimmered with what looked to be barely unshed tears.

"Un appel à l'aide! Assassiné moi, les criminels attaque a main armee! ( _Help! These armed criminals are trying to kill me!_ )

Abruptly the breathy babble cut off. Reinhardt and McCree had started towards LaCroix, hammer and guns drawn. Amelie gave a short, piercing shriek, that caused Mercy to clap her hands over her ears. Gott in Himmel! The little baggage had begun to shake, trembling while twisting frantically, yet somehow attractively in her bondage. She was the very image of a damsel in distress. Mercy was half moved to rescue the minx herself. Widowmaker would have made a fine actress if she had not gone into the Ballet. She had stage presence in spades. Her performance certainly had stirred the crowd around them. One well meaning soul tried to step between the male Overwatch agents and Widowmaker. Mercy hastily moved around the bystander and took matters into her own hands. A single strike of her Caduceus and the Talon agent was once more out like a light.

 

**Chapter 2: Chapter 2**

* * *

 

**Amelie LaCroix - Widowmaker**

Waking this time was slow, treacle thick resistance to her consciousness. Awareness was an effort for Amelie. The void released her reluctantly, every shred of coherent thought pulled from a sticky prison. The taste of medicine sour on her tongue caused an involuntary grimace. Drugged. The ropes had been replaced with hospital grade restraints at both wrists and ankles, anchoring her to the four corners of the narrow, mobile bed. Amelie recognized it's gurney style often found in from hospitals and asylums. She cursed softly, the words a soft growl as she took in her new position, loosely held spread eagle, and feeling uncomfortably vulnerable. Someone having stripped her of the casual street clothes that she had been wearing wasn't helping. She was laid out totally bare beneath a paper thin sheet that did little to preserve modesty. Somehow she doubted that she was even in Morocco anymore. The unlit gloom of the room did not disguise how barren it was. Either Overwatch was on hard times or the whole setting was meant to be psychologically intimidating.

Imbéciles. All of them. Herself most of all.

Widowmaker remembered the healer, Mercy. The golden haired medic had taken Amelie out with that witch's staff of hers. _putain_ Ah well… _C'est La Vie_. Objective, evading capture by Overwatch, _défaite_. Objective _nouveau_ , escape Overwatch captivity - **By any means necessary.**

**Angela Ziegler - Mercy**

Mercy went to check on the new "guest" with mixed feelings, and a simmering sense of annoyance. The whole Overwatch team had barely avoided being hauled into a Marrakech prison, by the shady means of paying off the right officials, and pandering to certain affluent patrons. McCree had the contacts among the persons of power locally, and Angela personally had the right kind of "bank" to smooth ruffled feathers of the legal authorities.

As Dr Ziegler, her personal reputation was impeccable, her fame as a pioneer and innovator in Biotic Healing had garnered her world wide goodwill, and considerable personal wealth. Both had finessed the acquisition of Amelie LaCroix, Widowmaker… wife and murderer of Gerard LaCroix, agent of the terrorist organization Talon. Widowmaker was an untapped asset of incalculable value. What they could learn about Talon's current operations, assets, leaders… Overwatch couldn't afford to squander the opportunity that was Amelie LaCroix. Wasting even a moment of the time the assassin was in their tender care would be criminal.

Mercy bit her lower lip as she reached the spartan room they were keeping Widowmaker... contained. It was not her preferred method of holding a prisoner, but there were no proper cells to be accessed. It galled that Overwatch once had the most state of the art facilities and over-flowing resources but was now reduced to this sad scrabbling amid half abandoned sites, mostly stripped to the bare minimum of viability by the very governments that had once supported them. How quickly those same supporters had turned on them en masse. Overwatch was now not even a fraction of their former strength. Not in materials, or in numbers. But what they had would have to do. Winston's call had wakened hope in her chest that had faded in the years since Overwatch had first disbanded. She would not fail the ideal of OverWatch, or what it represented. Not even if she had to use means that were of a slightly dubious in nature.

For now though, Mercy could play the Good Cop. Since McCree and Reinhardt had already taken the roles of the heavy hitting Bad Cops, they could be used as a threat. The carrot and the stick was an age old strategy. Angela could be an excellent carrot if she had to be.

Wait. That didn't sound quite right in her head. An uncomfortable image of Widowmaker snapping a carrot stick with a tiny halo and wings with her strong, sharp, pearly whites passed through Angela's mind. No, that wasn't what Angela had been aiming for. If either of them was going to be eating the other, she was the one who would do the eating!

_Nooo_ that wasn't quite right either. Mercy felt flushed, and quickly shut down an entirely inappropriate line of thought that had somehow snuck through her normal good intentions.

The whole disorderly situation was putting her off kilter. She needed the balance of regulation. Structure. Chaos was the medium to tame, not become part of. Smoothing back her blonde hair in an unconscious effort to tame her own rather unruly curls, Angela strode into the room. The lights were keyed to her presence and the room flooded with illumination. She stopped short, blinking rapidly in surprise with an unplanned blush staining her cheeks. Obviously Widowmaker had tried to escape her restraints. The struggle though futile, had dislodged the sheet Angela had covered Widowmaker with, leaving the Talon agent naked and clearly disgruntled. _Höll,_ Amelie LaCroix looked totally pissed off. An annoyed, finely arched brow spoke volumes even as the Widowmaker's lips pressed silently together in a moue of displeasure.

"Enjoying the view?" McCree's nonchalant drawl startled Mercy as the Cowboy sauntered in, running an appreciative eye over Amelie's state of au naturel. "I know I am."

Mercy's eyes couldn't help but take in the image that had McCree chuckling as he leaned against a wall, tipping his ever present, western style hat back. The medic had no qualms in admitting that Widowmaker was a well formed female. Amelie glared at her audience of two, the slight increase in her breathing brought attention to teardrop breasts, azure perfection tipped with dark, velvety looking nipples. She still had a dancer's sleekly muscled body, with long, smooth toned limbs. Amelie had changed little since her prime ballerina days, save perhaps for having more lushly curved hips, the shadowed v between her thighs echoed the softly silken blue black hair that now lay long and loose over her shoulders. When stripping her of her clothes, Mercy had taken even the sniper's hair band in case it might hold some hidden tool or tech device.

Quickly gathering her decorum, Mercy bent to retrieve the fallen sheet and snapped it out, letting it settle over the Talon agent once more. Amelie's glare moved over the sheet as if it offended her. A sneer settled on her lips as she finally spoke.

"A thin pretense. How appropo of OverWatch."

Angela fought back a wince. The French woman's damning tone was not out of place. More a drop cloth than anything else, the cheap material was all that had been on hand, in their rush to depart Morocco, there had been little time to do more than arrange to have absolutely necessary equipment and supplies brought with them to their current safe house. None of them had deemed a change of clothes for the Talon operative had been necessary. That had been short sighted of them. Perhaps they had been already been subconsciously trying to punish Widowmaker for the many crimes she had committed against untold victims. Again, Angela worried at her bottom lip for a moment before she realized what she was doing, and then smoothed her countenance to her normal serene visage.

It shouldn't matter to her, a medical doctor, if the thin cloth hid little more than the blue tint to Amelie's skin where it lay. Though clinically clean and bleached to an almost glaring whiteness in the stark light of the room, obvious years of use had worn it in places that were practically sheer. It's drape was more cling than coverage, following dips and curves of the Talon agent with almost intentional seductiveness. If she didn't know that Widowmaker couldn't possible influence how the sheet covered her, Mercy would swear she'd somehow finessed the material. _Himmel,_ the barely there leotard that the assassin normally wore as work clothes was bad enough. Talon's exhibitionistic little death dealer seemed able to turn a stripped bare med bay into the set of an adult film.

Mercy studiously kept the frown she felt from showing on her face. All the scenario lacked was some awful techno music track with a throbbing bass beat to wank to. Not that she watched a _lot_ of adult vids. She had better things to do with her time. Normally.

Widowmaker kicked one foot, tugging at one of the cuffs around a delicate ankle, the movement both somehow sulky and spoiled, inviting the instinct to set the Talon agent over one's knee, and smack the defiance out of her with a firm series of swats to the plump roundness… Mercy bit the inside of her cheek, her outside smile beginning to look strained. The sheet had responded to even this small action by sliding half off again.

"You might as well just have me naked."

The Talon agent's tone was casually indifferent, but the wording was rife with double entendre. Mercy saw the taunting glint in the assassin's amber gold gaze. A low growling laugh barked out of McCree, nearly causing Angela to jump. Somehow she'd forgotten he was there, inappropriately grinning at the whole situation.

"Is that an invitation, little lady?"

Amelie's golden eyes widened in a studied mockery of surprise.

"Do you _**need**_ an invitation? You could take whatever you want." She tugged her wrists in their cuffs, demonstrating her utter, helpless, confinement. Her voice was low, almost a lullaby in it's hypnotic, purring tones. "I could not stop you, even if I wanted to. You could do _**anything**_ to me, couldn't you?"

McCree's gaze held darkly heated amusement.

"Reckon I could at that."

Angela face palmed. This was not happening. Especially it was not happening right in front of her as if she didn't exist!

" _ **Achtung**_! Perhaps we could move our conversation to more appropriate topics!"

Two sets of eyes locked on the flushed faced doctor. The intense perusal was eerily predatory, from both McCree and Widowmaker, for a moment they could have been two wolves of the same pack, staring down at the same delicious prey animal, tender in it's uncertainty. A sudden sense of dangerous heat pervaded the room. Angela swallowed uneasily. Was it suddenly too hot in this room? Sweat prickled at the nape of her neck, and her breath hitched in her throat.

"McCree." Mercy's voice was firm authority. "Go to Reinhardt and tell him we'll begin interrogation in an hour. I want to give Widowmaker an exam, and it's inappropriate for you to be here right now.

For a moment, it looked like McCree was going to argue. However to Angela's relief the cowboy seemed to shake off whatever strange mood that had settled on him. A crooked grin and a sly smirk on his lips, McCree tipped his hat to Mercy. Then threw a last side glance to Amelie.

"Later, Darlin. We'll pick up where we left off."

"Is that a threat, _**desperado**_?" Amelie's voice was low, taunting as she flipped her loose hair back with a challenging toss of her head.

"Oh, it's a _**promise**_ darlin. And a man keeps his promises."

McCree sauntered out of the room as he'd come in, like an old west movie, the scent of leather and gunpowder following him like the ghosts.

The golden haired medic finally showed her frown as she pushed Amelie's shoulders so that the other woman was pushed firmly on her back, pinned and helpless.

To be continued.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Chapter 3**

* * *

 

**Angela Ziegler - Mercy**

Amelie looked up into the doctor's stormy face, and laughed.

"Is this how you like it, Mercy?" The assassin's unexpected mirth bubbled through her words as she lifted her chin, exposing the soft violet blue of her throat to the frowning blonde, "Go ahead. Do it."

"Do what? Bite you?! I'm a doctor, not a vampire!" exasperation colored Angela's words,

"No urge to take a nibble, _chère_?" the Talon operative smirked, her tone far too intimate for an enemy agent, "Perhaps I am misjudging the ardour flashing in _ta yeux bleus?"_

The blonde doctor stared at the amused assassin, totally flummoxed. Just _**what**_ was she implying? For a brief moment Angela was struck speechless.

"Do not fret, _mon ange, sera juste notre petit secret._ " Amelie's softly whispered words were like a lover's caress. "Kiss me. Or kill me? I know you want to do one or the other. What is a little harm between friends?"

"We are not friends!" Angela's emphatic statement broke her silence. Carrots be damned! Angela was not a _**tempermental**_ person. She was calm, collected, an intellectual! Not someone who would let a clearly depraved and deranged terrorist like Amelie LaCroix, get under her skin!

"No, we were never friends, were we?" Amelie would have shrugged if her shoulders were not pinned to the bed by the Swiss woman's white knuckled hands. Angela's feelings were so easily ruffled. It was almost too easy. "We were just faces in the crowd to each other. You were my husband's co-worker. I saw you only at the standard social events, the Overwatch holiday parties, the work related gatherings where we wore our pretty party dresses and our pretty public masques."

The Talon assassin's voice turned distant as she remembered how Gerard would work the crowd as a department head, towing her in his wake as his plus one. "I had nothing in common with any of you, other than my husband. _Une curieuse ironie_ , that his death should be what makes us so much more _l'accord._

"You are _**awful!**_ " Angela pulled back, hands shaking. "Gerard was a just and honorable man! You slaughtered him in his sleep without a second thought! How could you?! He _**loved**_ you!"

" _ **Mais oui**_. He loved me. I loved him." Amelie sighed, "Gerard. I love him still. His name is on my lips when I wake. My dreams echo with his voice. I remember every moment together as if it were only _de le faire_ … _U_ _ne fois de plus…_ Yet I go on." This time she did shrug, one shoulder, tilting her head in dismissal.

Angela could only stare into Widowmaker's eyes, the truth of her words shining in their golden depths. The half smile that crooked Amelie's lips was as devastating as her next words.

"The enemies of Talon will be eliminated."

**Amelie LaCroix - Widowmaker**

The Swiss doctor did not speak for a long while after that phrase dropped from Amelie's lips like a bucket of ice water. Clearly shocked, the medical doctor went through a standard health examination on auto pilot. Her only words were terse, short directives, "Inhale. Exhale. Cough."

Amelie wondered if she'd pushed the doctor too far. This mechanical state was growing old. She liked it better when the blonde was passionately raging at her.

"Why do you bother with this, Doctor Ziegler." she asked, trying to provoke some new reaction from the blonde medic. "Gathering a base line before seeing how far you can break me down during your interrogation?"

"That is not how Overwatch works." Angela's words were clipped. "We do not break people. You will be questioned in accordance with the standards of international law for humanitarian treatment in war."

"You could just leave me alone with McCree for a few hours. You probably would get much more interesting Intel from that." Amelie suggested slyly. "BlackWatch doesn't play by the rules. Neither does Talon. Let him break me a little, and then you can play doctor with me."

"That is **NOT** going to happen." Mercy was not going to drawn into Amelie's web. "BlackWatch does not exist anymore. No one is going to be be broken. No one is going to be _**playing**_."

"We shall see, _mon docteur_. _On verra bien"_

 

 

**Chapter 4: Chapter 4**

* * *

 

**Amelie LaCroix - Widowmaker**

 

There room was different, but they might as well not have moved her. Smaller space. Just as barren but more cramped, with two chairs on one side of a small table substituting as a makeshift desk, and one chair for Amelie. Angela had resorted to cutting a hole in the middle of the sheet for Widowmaker's head, and then duct taping the sides shut to make a rough tunic that fell slightly above her knees. She was still unclothed otherwise, but now ankles secured to the legs of the chair, wrists to the arms of the chair, and just as confined and helpless. One wall was clearly a one way mirror, and she felt like she was in a badly budgeted crime drama. Did they pick up their interrogation protocol from police holovids?

Amelie had been left there waiting alone for a good half hour, and she was appallingly aware that she hadn't had anything to eat since before her last mission. She had been planning to get a meal afterward, in the down time in Marrakesh. How long ago was that? She couldn't tell if it had only been hours, or if they'd kept her drugged longer. She felt hollow and no little queasy. Whatever drugs they had kept her sedated with hadn't quite worked through her system yet. With her altered biology, using any kind of pharmaceutical on her was risky. She doubted any of them would care overmuch if she were to have a _fatal_ reaction. Mercy seemed to have lost patience with her, having disappeared as soon as the medical examination was over and having a grim faced Reinhardt move her to this new room and bind her to the chair.

The German had made no attempt at conversation, and had not been gentle. Amelie was sure her cuffs were more than a fraction tighter than before, and she worried about the constriction being enough to cut off the blood flow. _**Standards of international law for humanitarian treatment in war**_ her sweet ass.

While the treatment was nowhere near as bad as a prisoner of Talon could expect, Amelie knew Overwatch was playing fast and loose with what was legal. They had no oversight. They were already doing more to her than what the Revised Geneva Conventions of 2037 or the post Omnic War Accords of 2065 outlined as acceptable treatment of a prisoner. While she doubted Overwatch would allow obvious, extreme torture, there were a myriad of ways to torment that could be used to break down someone in their power. Having been at the receiving end of Talon's even more extreme interrogation methods, Amelie LaCroix was intimately familiar with all too many of them.

Who would they get to play interrogator? The utter lack of support staff was now obvious to Amelie. She was fairly certain that the three Overwatch agents she'd run into in Morocco were the only ones in this abandoned base with her. They had no real legal authority, and they had actually kidnapped her off the streets of Marrakesh. They might question her regarding her missions for Talon. Those were _fait accompli_ , so whatever intel they were looking for was most likely about the protocols of Talon, as much their bases and their leaders. Perhaps to also gather evidence to what they considered her crimes, to justify how they would punish her. Whatever they pulled from her here would have no weight in a real court of law. However if they took it on themselves to play judge, jury and executioner, who was to stop them? An unmarked grave was the end destination for more than one Talon agent.

_**MEANWHILE** _

"What is the point of questioning her?" Reinhardt downed another foaming beer. His voice was somber thunder, "We know what she's done. We know what she will do if she escapes. We can't simply let her go now. How long do you think we can hold her captive? There is only one thing we can do with her."

"Well, I can think of a couple of other things one can do with a woman as beautiful as Amelie LaCroix." McCree grinned as he lit a cigar, dragging in the cuban smoke, then blowing it past the no smoking sign, "Some real fun things."

Disgust curled Reinhardt's lip. "Her husband thought the world of his wife. Look where it got him."

"We don't know the details. Back in the US of A, we don't presume guilt without evidence and a trail proving guilt. Sounds like you're ready to string her up without even a chance to give her account of what happened."

"She's TALON. What other _**account**_ is there?" the grizzled warrior growled out.

"That's what we should find out before killing her in cold blood." McCree crossed his legs, boots resting on the table in the commissary.

The mostly stripped room was empty save for him and the older, more weathered giant. Reinhardt was drowning his cares in stein after stein of beer. The table was already crowded with empty mugs.

"I backed you up there in Morrocco, cuz that's what team members do." McCree dragged in another lungful and let it out slow, "But we weren't on a mission. Striking down that girl for simply walking in for a cuppa joe is a might… Well it don't sit right."

"She would kill you in a heartbeat" Reinhardt smashed his stein down on the table with such force all the empty mugs already there jumped and rattled coming down again. "Even if you were sleeping in the bed you just fucked her in."

"Well now, "McCree raised an eyebrow, "Won't know that for sure, less we give her the chance."

Reinhardt's good eye narrowed. Angela's arrival interrupted his beginning tirade. Her face was ashen and Reinhardt's manner changed from belligant to concerned in a heartbeat. "Mercy! What is it?"

"Well for one, I just got reamed on the phone from Morrison, for what went down in Marrakesh."

Angela's words were even toned, but her eyes flashed in memory of Jack's biting remarks only moments earlier. He'd apparently gotten an eye and earful of the events from over a dozen video blogs of tourists and locals who'd not only witnessed the incident, but recorded it for posterity. Oh the joys of living in a modern world, where nothing went unrecorded, and everything was published on the world net for everyone to see in moments.

"It wasn't your fault, Angela!" Reinhardt's hearty voice took on a protective note, "This was _**my**_ doing! I'll let Jack know I was the one who struck the first blow."

"But I'm the one who decided we'd take Amelie LaCroix. And _**verdammt**_ I'd do it again!" Angela's own anger came to the fore, "In that head of hers could be the means to save countless lives! To bring down Talon, or at least thwart some of their schemes! I am _**NOT**_ about to let this opportunity go to waste!"

"Angela, if you want to tear information out of that murderess, then we _**will**_ tear it out of her!" Reinhardt's proclamation was emphasized with another pounding of his now empty stein onto the table. "In war, we do what we must. Let me be your shield. I can do this,,, _**work**_. It is not something I like to admit, but I can do what what needs to be done, so that you do not have to. Jack can rage at me then, rather than you. It will be like the blowing of air against a brick wall."

Angela was momentarily taken aback by her team mate's grim offer. Was he really volunteering to… No, she must misunderstand what he meant.

"No Reinhardt. It was my call. It is my duty. I will interrogate Amelie LaCroix. And I will do so without staining either of our honor. I am going to do that now. Will you and McCree observe? I feel the more witnesses to her response will prove valuable."

Reinhardt and McCree exchanged glances. As one they agreed, assuring Angela they would be there to back her up.

**Amelie LaCroix - Widowmaker**

Amelie was surprised to see Dr Ziegler enter the room alone. She was the logical choice of course, if the only other possible Overwatch agents on site were the German warrior or the American cowboy with a dark past. Still, she would not take bets that those same two were not behind the one way glass that was the only decoration in an otherwise bland room.

" _Mon Ange Docteur._ Are we over our _Pique_?" Her words brought Angela's blue eyes to meet her own golden ones, "I did not mean to offend you before."

"I understand you must feel anxious about your situation, Amelie." Angela Ziegler's voice was it's normal calm, soothing tones. She was working her way slowly into the interrogation, first trying to lull the prisoner a feeling of sympathy.

"I want you to know I'm not your enemy here. I am a neutral party. I just want to understand you better"

"What is there to understand? I am your prisoner. You've kidnapped me. Stripped me naked. Bound me so tightly I fear for the loss of my hands and feet. Starved me." Amelie shrugged, "Shall I thank you for healing my broken skull after your team mates bashed it in earlier. Thank you _docteur,_ I am grateful to not be dead after the brutal beating I took from your agents. I am sure you will take good care of me should they do more damage."

Angela's lips pressed together, a thin unhappy line. Laid out like that, it sounded very… bad. She could not let the Talon agent take control of the conversation.

"Are you hungry? I am afraid our hospitality is not at it's best. I will have adequate food brought to you after our… _**talk**_."

"Call a spade a spade, Mercy." Amelie tilted her head, "This is an interrogation. You were not so circumspect with words earlier. What is it you really want to know."

"When did you become a Talon agent? Did you marry Gerard LaCroix in order to gather intel on OverWatch? Were you Talon from the beginning?" Angela had a set of questions she had meant to address, but her own curious nature won through. She and other Overwatch agents, Gerard's friends and family, had wanted answers for so many years.

"Was I… ?" Amelie's laugh was hard enough to bring tears to her eyes, " _Mon ange_ … I was, oh so many years ago, nothing more than what I appeared to be. A ballerina. A wife. A waste of time and space existing only for the support and pleasure of others. Until Talon took me, and made me into something far more useful."

Angela kept a calm face, watching the other woman's gaze drift to the right in reverie.

"How did they make you useful?"

"By breaking me of course. I was no one, and nothing. They broke that nothingness down, and remade me from the pieces. Faster. Stronger. Better in all ways."

"A killer?" Angela held her breath after her question, not sure if it was too soon.

"Useful." Amelie dismissed the attempt to have her damn herself with a confession to her kills. Overwatch would have to work harder than that.

"How did Talon break you?" Angela kept her eyes on Amelie, carefully not glancing at the one way glass. McCree and Reinhardt were observing. Were they seeing what she was seeing? Amelie was worrying one wrist in it's cuff. She didn't seem to notice what she was doing. It was obvious she was thinking about something that made her want to escape.

"I don't wish to talk of it." Amelie's voice had gone flat. "It is of no consequence."

"How can you say that?" Angela probed, sensing a sore spot "You say they _**broke**_ you. How can you work for an organization that did that to you?"

"Because… " Amelie shrugged a shoulder. "Because that is who I am now. I am no longer broken. I am remade now. Do you not appreciate what Talon has done? The perfection they have achieved? The medical wonder of my physiology alone justifies my existence."

"Do you need to justify your existence?" Angela's voice had turned softer, "Don't you deserve to just exist?"

"No." Amelie's voice was curt. "I exist on Talon's sufferance. When that sufferance is at and end, so shall I be."

Amelie didn't want to play this game anymore. The doctor was boring her now. She wanted to get up out of the uncomfortable chair they had her strapped into and leave. This wasn't amusing in any way. She wanted to LEAVE.

But she couldn't.

So she put her boredom into her face and forbeared.

The questions after that were endless. She admitted nothing. Noncommittal replies. It felt like hours dragged into infinity. Where was this? Did she know this person? Who gave her orders? Was she at this event? How was she rewarded…

Rewarded? Finally a question she could answer.

"My reward, _mon ange_? I am my reward."

" _Was_ … What do you mean by that?" Angela shook herself a little. She had gone on auto pilot for a while, lost in the frustrating, monotonous drone of non-answers, till this unexpected deviation occurred.

"You wouldn't understand, _mon ange_." Amelie yawned. She was so tired. "Can we not call it a day? _S'il vous plaît?_ Or are we in the sleep deprivation portion of our dance? The food deprivation train has already left the station, and yet I have a pressing need to relieve myself. Shall I soil myself here? Or do you have somewhere more convenient for such messes?"

Jarred, Angela looked blankly at the Talon agent. That was NOT the situation! She'd merely lost track of time in the repetition of LaCroix's "I do not know" and "The answer escapes me" and the occasional, "Do you really expect me to answer that?"

Face unhappy, Angela admitted defeat to herself, if not to the Talon agent.

"Reinhardt will escort you to a bathing facility. You can take care of your needs there."

"Will he watch?" Amelie's query was dead pan, but her eyes lit with a small spark of amusement as the Swiss Doctor grimaced.

"Why can't you be more cooperative, Amelie?!" Angela ground out, near the end of her fuse. So far the Talon agent had given them zero useful information, and from her attitude, she was giving zero fucks as well. Nothing so far had justified the risk Overwatch was taking by having her prisoner, and Angela was losing patience.

Amelie's eyes sharpened on the doctor's look of vexation.

"Truly? You want to know why? Because I like being ALIVE, Doctor Ziegler." her voice shook a little as it rose. She was shaking a little as well. She was near her limit too. "You have condemned me to death already, and right now your execution method appears to be death by boredom! Honestly, I have absolutely no reason what so ever to help you or Overwatch in any way, shape or form! _**Dieu**_ , even Talon dangled some small scraps above my cage, to encourage me to obey!"

The French woman slumped in her chair, her breathing slowing as she regained her composure.

"I thought Talon had fixed you so that you felt no emotion. Like a spider." Angela commented, trying to avoid the upset feelings Amelie was stirring in her. Your modifications are said to slow your heart rate and make you the perfect cold hearted killer."

"Really? And you are supposed to be a _medical_ doctor?" Amelie's laugh was like a low growl. "Poetry is not science, _mon ange_. The number of beats per moment of your heart does not control your feelings. The heat of your body does not affect your aim. And nobody is perfect, _ma tres c_ _hère._ Not even me"

They stared at each other, celestial blue eyes searching amber gold. Their silent battle of wills broken by Reinhardt entering the room with McCree.

"I'll take her to the womens' facilities" Reinhardt's voice was gruff. He reached to loosen the cuffs on Amelie's ankles and wrists, and helped her to stand.

A short yelp of pain later, and Amelie was on the ground rubbing at her ankles frantically. The loss of circulation had first made her feet go numb, but now they were like a beehive of pain. Her hands were little better, but she didn't need to walk on her hands. Then Angela was there, examining and tutting her tongue in concern.

"Reinhardt! How tightly did you bind her? I'm going to have to use a healing patch! You stupid, stupid girl! Why didn't tell me your bonds were too tight? Do you WANT to loose a limb?" Angela scolded harshly.

"I _did_ tell you, you stupid _vache suisse!_ " Amelie hissed in pain, trying not to scream instead, "You were not listening to what I was saying. You didn't want to hear _**that**_ part of what I was telling you. Your kind never want to listen to the parts that would put you or Overwatch in a bad light. That is why Overwatch fell in the first place. You ignored the bad, focused on the good, and the world around you tore you down because everyone else could see the rot for what it was."

Then she gasped in relief as the healing from a micro pack Angela had snatched from one of her pockets bathed the stricken woman's hands and feet in a soft golden glow.

" _Je vous remercie,"_ Amelie's voice was almost a whisper, "Thank you. I didn't mean to call you a swiss cow. Just forget I said anything at all."

Troubled, Angela helped the Talon agent to stand. Looking past the assassin to the german behind her, Angela nodded. The over muscled giant scooped Amelie up like a small child, and carried her to the nearest females facility. It was an interior bathroom, so he wasn't concerned she could escape, with him at the only entrance.

"Go. Take care of your business." He set her down and pushed her through the door, closing it behind her.

Taking a sentry's stance, Reinhardt stood guard at the door.

"So, old man. Does the account matter after all?" McCree had ground out his last cigar while watching the interrogation hours ago. But he still had some hand rolled cigarettes, and was considered one unlit one before sighing and stashing it away again. All things in moderation.

"She could be lying." Reinhardt's answer was short, but his heart wasn't behind the words. "There was so much rumor and disinformation going on about what happened when Talon first kidnapped her, then after Gerard was… gone. We all thought Amelie was dead as well, a victim of a double murder. Then she resurfaced, an obvious Talon agent. What else were we supposed to think?"

"Yeah. What else?" McCree sauntered away, to meet with Angela and go over the observations he'd made watching the interrogation. They might not know much more about Talon's bases or plans, but he reckoned they'd learned at least a few interesting facts. Later on, he still had _promises_ to keep.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Chapter 5**

* * *

**Amelie LaCroix - Widowmaker**

 

Amelie plunged her hands into the stream of bitingly cold water, and drank greedily. It seemed that Overwatch's facilities were only partially online, and there was no hot water at all, but that didn't deter her from stripping off the makeshift tunic and walking to one of the shower stalls set up for the facility staff that had to spend both their waking and sleeping hours in the base. Cold water sluiced over her violet blue skin, sending shudders through her that she ignored. Yes her core body temperature was less than a baseline human's, but that didn't mean she couldn't be chilled. She just soldiered through it because the cold was the lesser evil to the unclean feeling she suffered. _Va au Diable_ … To the Devil with that Swiss bitch and her tiny act of kindness! Damn her…

She had it under control. Even when the blonde bitch had asked that question.

" _ **How did Talon break you?"**_

Amelie had spent years doing her best to NOT remember, but she didn't quite dare forget. Knowledge was power and she couldn't afford to give up even a small scrap. Not even for peace of mind. Overwatch's pathetic interrogation and psychological intimidation was not even a shadow of what Talon had dragged her through. _Dieu le veut,_ God willing, she would never have to experience such things again. What did that blonde cow know of such things? _**Dieu**_ … She would blanche and vomit if Amelie were to give her the answers she wanted. Amelie had it under control. Until Angela had soothed away the pain and healed her. Stupid, stupid kindness…

_**10 years ago** _

_Amelie kept biting her lower lip, trying to keep it from trembling. She was so afraid! But she was Amélie Lacroix,_ _she would be brave so her husband Gerard would not be ashamed of her. He was a hero, and he would save her, she knew this in her heart of hearts. He would come. No matter what these Talon criminals did to her, she'd endure, for Gerard._

_If only she could see. The hood that blinded her muffled sound as well. It had been so quick. One moment she had been outside her car, coming back from the grocery shopping, and the next she was brutally abducted, being taking places unknown._

_She cried out in surprised pain as an unfamiliar hand began to fondle her roughly. Tears welled up in her covered eyes. Gerard, please come soon, she prayed. Please!_

_**Here and Now** _

Stepping out of the shower, Amelie ran her fingers through her now sodden hair, wringing out the moisture as best she could. She looked at the makeshift tunic, and made a face. But, beggars and choosers… She slipped it back on and walked out to the waiting giant who was now guarding her. He said nothing about her now damp state, but walked her back to the medical bay they'd been keeping her in. Staying silent herself, she let him rebind her to the gurney, this time not so tightly. With his departure, the lights went out as well. She was in darkness. But she was familiar with darkness. It was almost soothing in it's own way. She supposed they had forgotten about the food. Who was here to make it but those few? They were probably dissecting everything she'd said or not said during the interrogation, forgetting to eat themselves. Gerard would roll over in his grave if he knew how badly off Overwatch was, that they could not even keep a simple cook on staff. But Gerard had been a man to enjoy the minor comforts of home and hearth. A simple meal cooked by his lovely wife, a bottle of wine, and he had been a happy man.

He had died smiling in his sleep, her last gift to him. After dinner she had made love with him with all the fervor of their wedding night, holding back nothing as she screamed his name into the darkness. He had been so completely sated, that sleep claimed him without hesitation. Then soon after, sleep's darker sister death claimed her own.

Amelie turned the memory over in her mind like a jewel, each facet polished by care and time. Her first human kill. The most perfect kill. She had wept and rejoiced in that instant, the incandescent pain of loss, the rapture that was the taking of life. She had never felt such suffering or glory before, or since. She had never killed anyone she had loved as much as Gerard. Perhaps that was her mistake. Perhaps she should allow herself the chance to love again. No. Love was weakness. Love was allowing another to become more important than survival. She was a survivor. She'd had to be. Because all those years ago, when Talon had taken her, Gerard had not come for her after all.

_**10 years ago** _

"Hot damn! Nova, you ever seen anyone so pretty? She's like a fucking doll! Get it? Fuck Doll?"

Amelie tried not to shudder. Tried not to show her captors how their leering looks disturbed her. It wasn't even just the men, but the females too who were looking at her like a starving dog looks at unprotected meat. Her clothes were loose from their groping touches, and the sense of shame that pervaded her very essence was like nothing she'd ever felt before. They'd taken her to some kind of medical facility, which should have been comforting in any circumstance but this. Now, the hospital like surroundings were a nightmare. What were they going to do to her?

The woman whose call sign was Nova, because her Nordic blonde good looks and long high ponytail made her look like a Starcraft gaming character, laughed at her subordinate's joke.

"I get it. And we'll get to enjoy our reward soon enough. I hear they are going to give this one the works. Top brass even called their thought reform experts in from the Shadow Base. We'll get to help break her in, and then they'll get to put the pieces together in all sorts of new fun ways. Hell, this sweet piece of ass might end up becoming something that they've been experimenting with over in R&D. Something called the Black Widow project."

Amelie couldn't repress the shudder that ran through her. She hated spiders! So many legs! So many eyes! She'd been afraid of them since she was a little girl. Could this nightmare get even worse?

"Oooo, look!" the smaller, more sprite like dark haired woman who wore her hair cropped short and messy, chucked Amelie's head up with a finger tip under the captive's chin, "That got to her. She's afraid of spiders."

"Something to give the head doctors." Nova chuckled, "Let's get her ready for her examination then. The white coats will be here at oh nine hundred and it's already nearly 8 am. You know how spastic those elite bastards are if every little thing isn't primed and perfect for their use. Lola, you and Brock can do the honors. Strip the bitch and get her on to the examination table."

**Here and Now**

Amelie blinked, eyes watering at the sudden illumination. Angela Ziegler had entered the room, and with her came McCree with a covered dish on a rolling trolley. The only silverware was a plastic spork. Nothing that could be used as a serious weapon, even though she'd once used a coffee stirring straw to put down a target.

"Still hungry? Reinhardt made chicken dumpling soup. It's nothing fancy, but it's nourishing."

The doctor's voice was upbeat, and disgustingly pleasant. You would not have known she'd spent the last several hours badgering Amelie with her questions. The scent of spiced chicken broth made her mouth water. She no longer cared how chipper the Swiss blonde was anymore. Amelie's stomach clenched, and she would have even put up with the Overwatch's little chipmunk Tracer, if it got her something to eat.

"I'm afraid we can't unbind you." Mercy's face was red with embarrassment, "McCree has volunteered to feed you though. I've advised him to be on his best behavior, so no fooling around, _verstehen?_ I have a report to write up or I'd be doing this myself."

Angela, gave both the American gunslinger and Amelie a searching glance, not convinced leaving them alone was the best idea. But there was not a lot of choice. Reinhardt had eaten his share of dinner and gone straight to his quarters. Mercy didn't want to disturb the elder Overwatch agent, and McCree _had_ volunteered. Surely he would not do anything to jeopardize Overwatch's reputation, especially with how thin a tightrope they were walking by keeping the Talon agent captive. She could trust his commitment to Overwatch. She would have to.

"I'll be back soon. Just feed her McCree. Just… " Angela turned to leave the room, as Jesse McCree finished her sentence for her.

"Just don't do anything you wouldn't do, Doc?"

"Yes. That." Angela frowned at his chuckle before exiting the room, muttering in German under her breath.

"Open up for Unca McCree," the gunslinger made choo choo noises as Amelie lifted an eyebrow, but obediently opened her mouth.

The first spoonful was heaven. Amelie did not bother to suppress her moan of pleasure. Licking the salty residue from her lips, she tilted her chin up, letting the warm broth slide down her throat.

"Well damn." McCree's western drawl brought her back to reality, "This might be harder than I thought."

To be continued.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Chapter 6**

* * *

 

**Jesse McCree**

 

"Shut up and feed me." Amelie demanded, eyes narrowed, her golden eyes flashed with near feral hunger.

Jesse grinned at the imperious tone in the Talon assassin's voice. She was strapped all but naked to a bed, the modified scrap of cloth losing it's battle to keep from riding up her thighs and exposing all the glory god had granted her. Looked like god had been pretty generous. The former ballerina had the longest legs McCree had seen on any woman, and they were every inch beautiful. The kind of legs meant to be wrapped around a man while he rode her hard and made her scream his name over and over again. However, despite her circumstances, that attitude of hers could have come from a queen on her throne. It just tickled him to death.

"Well shoot, sugar cube," Jesse drawled, teasing, "That don't sound a mite friendly. I suggest you change your tone if you want something from me."

The violet blue complexion of Widowmaker's cheeks darkened, and she bared her teeth at him, but it was sweet dulcet honey that left her cupid bow lips. The words weres were a little snarky though.

"Oh please, kind sir, may have another?"

"Of course you may, honey lips." McCree declared magnanimously and very slowly moved a second spoonful to her mouth.

Those gorgeous golden devil's eyes of hers could have scorched a man's soul. But her tongue came out just as slow, tip touching the bottom back of the spoon, and licking slowly up to the tip before those soft lips closed over the spoonful of soup. The slight sucking noise she made as she pulled her back, releasing the spoon, almost undid him right there.

"More."

It was more demand than plea, but Jesse decided she deserved a reward for being a good sport and playing along. He carefully scooped up one of the small, surprisingly delicate and fluffy dumplings Reinhardt had made. Who knew that the burly giant could cook like this? But even with careful handling, the spork was not the best utensil, it's plastic rigidness undone by the heat of the soup, was going to collapse under the weight of the dumpling. Jesse sighed and pinched the morsel between his fingers before it could fall.

"No biting, " he commented and moved to pop the treat into Widowmaker's already parted lips.

She didn't bite. Jesse almost wished she had, because that wouldn't have made him so sorry that he'd promised Angela to behave. Instead, she pursed her lips and sucked the dumpling between them, half a kiss, half an obscene invitation. He watched her swallow, and damned himself for picking out another dumpling, nearly scalding his fingertips on the still hot soup. This time her lips went over dumpling and fingers, her tongue licking the line of his thumb from base to tip. He damn near didn't let go of the dumpling.

"More."

Jesse accepted defeat. There was no way he was going to last, feeding her bite by bite. He undid her wrist cuffs and handed her the spork, moving the trolley so the soup bowl was in reach.

"Don't try nothing. Just because I'm letting you feed yourself, don't mean I won't shoot you down if you get frisky." McCree warned, stepping back to give her space.

Widowmaker ignored him, focusing her attention on finishing the soup. Ignoring the spork she lifted the bowl to her lips and drank down the liquid, taking a few precious moments to savor each dumpling, before swallowing the entire contents in less time than it took for Jesse to loosen his belt, and relieve the tightness that was building in his denim jeans. With a sigh, the female assassin put the bowl back on the trolley and looked over at McCree's obvious condition. Eyes moving from his nether regions to his face, a smug grin tugged at her lips.

"Harder than you thought?" the words were in as polite as a church lady tone of voice, but the devil's laughter was in those damn golden eyes.

"Nothing I can't handle." McCree drawled.

"There's a word for that you know." Amelie LaCroix leaned back on her elbows, taking the opportunity drag her gaze over the American Overwatch agent, "But I'm sure you're a master at it."

"Ow! She shoots! She scores!" McCree took a mock stagger back, "Who would have know the infamous Widowmaker could dish out the _**pun**_ -ishment."

A more serious expression settled on Amelie LaCroix's face at the mention of her call sign. The levity of the moment died and Jesse sighed, and went to rebind her wrists.

"Don't. Please."

Her words were soft. The look in her golden eyes was like a trapped animal. The shine of desperation made them glitter.

"Sorry, sugar cube. Orders are not to leave you any means of escape, and this is the best we can do for now." Jesse apologized and he rebound her wrists to their original positions. He felt every ounce a heel for having to do it, but even he had to admit Widowmaker was too dangerous to not use extreme methods to keep her put.

"I can make it worth your while." Her half whispered words put a pause in Jesse's step as he was about to push the cart back to the kitchen.

"I don't think so, sugar." Jesse replied, turning his back on temptation.

"I'll do anything. No… I'll do _**everything**_. However you like it. Hard as you like it. Every dark fantasy you've ever entertained in the shadows of your mind, I will make real. This soft, supple flesh was made for your use, McCree, all you need do is _**claim**_ it."

Her voice was a siren's song, sultry and rich with sin. Jesse looked back, and watched her arch her body just enough to ride the altered sheet up that last inch, baring herself to his eyes. Lavender blue dilly dily… thighs parted, the invitation was blatantly clear. Until he looked up and saw her eyes. The glitter there was still a trapped animal's desperation, the kind that led the she wolf in a trap to chew through their own trapped limb to escape.

"Oh… darling. Make me this offer when you are free and clear, and I'll take you up on it." Jesse's voice was soft and soothing, as if he were talking to a trapped animal in truth. "I… I'll see what I can do to get you some… relief."

Jesse pushed the cart out, knowing he was leaving her in darkness again. He bowed his head and closed his ears to the scream that followed him out, the anguished cry that might have been rage, or the loss of hope.

 

 

**Chapter 7: Chapter 7**

* * *

 

**Amelie LaCroix/Widowmaker**

 

Amelie lay panting in the dark, fighting the need to scream again. That _**stupid**_ cowboy, how dare he just walk away! Pressing her eyes closed Amelie tried to find her center, to bring her mind to the state of calm she went to when lining up a kill shot.

Failure.

She'd been so close. Amelie could still feel the lust McCree held in his voice and eyes, she could taste it on his skin. He had wanted her, she knew it like she knew her own name. Why hadn't he taken her offer? Had it been too soon? Had she pushed too hard? Been too blatantly slutty? Another scream was building under her breath, and she couldn't even turn around to bury it in the bedding as she had done so often a child. Good little girls didn't wake the manor in the middle of the night with their nightmares. She wasn't so little or so good anymore. She wouldn't scream. Not until it was useful. She wouldn't scream.

Damn the cowboy for giving her a brief illusion of freedom, of control, and then snatching it back again. She was better trained than this! She had to think of something else. Anything else. Rabbits. She would think of the rabbits.

**Years Ago**

"Kill it papa? But it's so cute and furry!" Amelie looked dubiously at the large buck rabbit in his hutch and the sharp hunters knife her father had handed her.

"It's necessary Amelie. These are food animals, not pets. You have to be able to kill it, skin it, and prep it for cooking." Her father patiently explained as he pulled out another rabbit to demonstrate.

"It may be hard for you at first, but after you will have a lovely rabbit stew to please your mama. Rabbit is her favorite. You want to please mama don't you?"

"Maman's favorite is foie gras aux truffes."

"Impertinent!" Guillard looked at his daughter fondly. "Kill it my petit chou, and next weekend we can go hunting at the Chateau. You still like to hunt, don't you? This rabbit is like the ones you shoot in the woods."

"Yes papa, but I like to kill rabbits from far away. Killing up close is so… messy!" Amelie looked unhappily at the gushing blood the still twitching rabbit, held in one of her father's strong hands by it's back legs, was spurting everywhere.

"Blood washes away, Amelie. Blood washes away."

**Here and Now**

"Blood washes away." Amelie repeated her mantra, beneath her breath. How she wished she had her lovely knife from her papa now. Or her Widows Bite. Or even a stupid metal kitchen knife. Or her gun. Her Widow's Kiss. Her gun and that stupid cowboy in her sights!

Amelie took a ragged breath and let it go again. She had other options. The cowboy wasn't the only person in the abandoned base, just the most obvious choice for a honey trap. She'd be more subtle with her next target, work it more slowly to not scare her away. The other choice was just as interested, but more closeted about it than the cowboy. But those _yeux bleus célestes_ followed her as avidly if not more so Slowly Amelie's breathing evened out, slowed, grew shallow as death. Sleep was an escape of sorts. Sometimes. Sometimes it was another kind of prison..

**8 Years Ago**

"...one of Talon's best snipers. Dr. Moira O'Deorain says she can improve on even our best.

Amelie stood ram rod straight, resisting the urge to fidget. Talon's best didn't fidget. She was going to be given the chance to go beyond the rank and file and advance into the level of elite agent that would gain her a level of autonomy that she craved above all else. All she had to do was let this Moira do whatever she wanted to do to Amelie LaCroix. Anything. Everything.

The doctor's eyes were different colored, the left cobalt blue, the right fox brown, both glacially piercing, as she assessed Amelie with cold calculation that sent a thrill of terror though her soul. The doctor seemed to sense that fear, as she smiled with cool superiority and announced, "She'll do nicely. Have her sent to the lab. Just her."

"Ma'am?" the Talon handler seemed surprised. There were a dozen candidates in the room, but the rest seemed just as happy not to be chosen.

"You heard me. Amelie LaCroix, to my lab. The rest do not interest me. I'll begin tests immediately. I want a full spectrum of samples. Blood. Urine. Tissue. All of it. Don't dally! My time is too valuable to be wasted."

Amelie sagged when the doctor left the room, eyes wide and staring at the lab walls with disbelief. Just her? Why? It was an honor of course… An opportunity like no other. But why did she feel that she was standing at the gates of Hell, with graven invitation to dine with the damned?

"You heard Dr. O'Deorain" a lab tech herded her towards the examination room, "You can leave your uniform in the corner, housekeeping will pick it up with the rest of the trash."

"But… naked?" Amelie was already stripping out of the Talon dress uniform she'd put on for the selection process.

"She'll either give your something to wear if she feels like it, or she'll want you immediately accessible. Don't worry about it. You'll have bigger concerns than clothes soon anyway." the tech said pulling out the sample and specimen containers.

Amelie didn't doubt it in the least. What the Hell had she just volunteered for?

**Here and Now**

 

**Angela Ziegler / Mercy**

"Amelie? Wake up! Amelie?" Angela pried opened a blue eyelid and aimed a penlight at the black pupil beneath. It didn't constrict, nor did Amelie wake. Doctor Ziegler reached for another Healing Pack, cursing under her breath. Why hadn't she checked on the patient earlier? _**Verdammnis**_ because she hadn't been thinking of Amelie LaCroix as a patient. She'd been treating the Talon operative like she was solely a captive enemy agent, and not at all like someone who'd in a short amount of time had suffered considerable amounts of trauma, and healing packs aside, almost no medical care.

Where had her head been? Even if Widowmaker was a prisoner, that didn't mean she wasn't entitled to at least basic care. Activating the biotic health enhancer, Angela breathed a relieved sigh as Amelie made a pained mewl and woke with a gasp.

Golden eyes glared as the Talon sniper took in the Swiss doctor.

"What!?"

"You need to stay awake Amelie. I think you might have sustained some recurring damage. Healing Packs are not a cure all." Angela explained, "Even if they cure the immediate harm, if there is a chronic cause then damage will start again after the health pack wears off."

"Oh." Amelie LaCroix shrugged. "I may require maintenance."

"Maintenance?" Angela wasn't sure she heard correctly, "What kind of maintenance."

"Upkeep? I have handlers who take care of me in downtime, they maintain my body for peak performance. I've been told if I go too long without care I'll shut down." Amelia's voice went quieter than normal, her eyes closing again, to Angela's distress. " _Quelle surprise._ I always thought that was just to keep me from slipping the leash when I'm out in the field. Guess I was wrong. So it looks like Talon may not need to send someone to finish me after all. I'll simply perish without their intervention. How convenient for everyone all around."

" _ **WAS**_ … What!?" Angela was properly appalled. "And you are going to just lie there and accept that?!"

Golden eyes opened again, annoyed.

"Just what would you have me do, Doctor Ziegler? I'm currently cuffed to a gurney, dependent on your whim to even use the toilet. I can't even turn on my side to sleep. So unless you plan to let me go, I may as well resign myself to the inevitable. Eventually you will run out of health packs, and I'll run out of time."

"I thought you wanted to stay _**ALIVE**_." Angela accused, "Where is that fire you had in the interrogation room!?"

"Fire eventually dies, _mon ange._ Not even a frozen fire like mine can burn forever."

Cursing in German Angela stalked around the room, debating with herself. McCree had come to her and confessed what had happened, or what had _**NOT**_ happened with the prisoner. He had advocated releasing Amelie LaCroix, provisionally. He was convinced she might harm herself before long, in attempts to escape. Angela was inclined to agree with him. But did concern for Amelie's well being supercede the danger the assassin presented to others if granted freedom?! Did Angela as a doctor have the right to decide? As current team leader of Overwatch on site? As a rational, humane, citizen of the world?

Even Reinhardt had spoken to her about Amelie, guilt and shame in his voice as he admitted that he originally had tried to kill the Talon agent in Marrakech, but now was sorry because he didn't believe Amelie was responsible for her actions. Not if she had been taken by Talon and been subjected to the type of conditioning she alluded to. Even without details, now that Angela knew what to look for, Amelie's behavior was indicative of systematic abuse and manipulation on a terrifying level. The worst of it was she didn't believe she was a victim. She was never going to ask for help of her own free will. _**Hölle**_ , did she even have free will as normal people thought of it?

" _ **Fein!**_ " Angela strode to the prisoner and dramatically ripped open the cuffs, one by one. "FINE! You are free to go. Go back to your kennel like a good dog, and your masters may take pity on you!"

Warily, Amelie sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the gurney.

"What is the catch, _mon ange_."

"No catch. Go." Angela turned her head aside, glaring at the wall instead of at the no longer prisoner. "Or stay."

"Stay?" Amelie's disbelief echoed in her half laughed reply, " _ **Pourquoi diable**_ would I stay?!"

"Your masters have you on a kill switch. I could disarm it if you give me the chance." Angela turned to look into Amelie's eyes, blue to golden, soul bared to soul.

"You would do that for me? The killer of your friends. The murdererss of innocents?" Amelie was blunt, letting there be no question as to who or what she was.

"Give yourself to me Amelie. I will in turn give you freedom, if only you will take it." Angela Ziegler's voice was firm, her sincerity and honesty shone from her like a light from within.

"Your fellow OverWatch members may disagree." the Talon assassin brought up the obvious. "They may take this decision out of your hands entirely."

"They can try. They will not succeed." Angela was confident she could turn the tide, or if need be, stand athwart it. Already Reinhardt and McCree were willing to give Amelie LaCroix a chance to win free of Talon's grasp. Not all of the others might be convinced, but she didn't need a unanimous vote. She just needed a few strong, starwalt friends at her side, and the rest could lump it. That is, if Amelie were willing to take the risk. She could see the decision teeter totter in the amber gold of LaCroix's eyes.

 

* * *

**Chapter 8: Chapter 8**

* * *

 

**Amelie LaCroix - Widowmaker**

Amelie was tempted.

It would take so little, to close the distance between them, and wring the good doctor's neck. The thought quickened her blood, and Amelie felt heat tingle in places that cried to her for relief of one sort, _or another_. She was just wired that way. Sex and death were so intertwined for her now, that one could replace the other as easily as water and wine. One could quench her thirst as easily as the other. Kiss her or kill her? Looking at Mercy, Amelie didn't deceive herself. She wanted to do both. It would not be the first time she combined the two together. She remember how sweet the kill had been when she'd taken Nova to her bed in celebration of her becoming Talon's top ranked sniper, years before Moira had toyed with her DNA.

Rank hath privilege, and Talon was indulgent with it's darlings _**vices**_. To a point. Amelie had taken full advantage of the perks she gained climbing the ladder of Talon's elite operatives. No one was left from the strike team that had kidnapped her oh so long ago. They were only snatch and grab mercenaries, no specialties among them. Well, no _militaire_ specialties. Lola did know how to use her mouth. She had let the little latina live weeks longer than any of the others because she knew how to put her tongue to good use. Until Lola wagged it the wrong way, claiming to have tamed la araña to her fellows in Talon. Amelie was not a tame spider. She would not be kept, or contained. But she could be bought, if the price was right.

"I accept your kind and generous offer."

Mercy's face was a study of relief and a sudden dumbfounded realization of just how daunting a task bringing Widowmaker into Overwatch's fold would be.

"You work on taking out my kill switches, keep me healthy and hale, and I will be _your_ dog, Mercy. Your's and yours alone." Amelie set the terms of their relationship. "If you tell me to take a mission, I will take it. If you tell me to stand down, I will stand down. But I have needs, Angela. If they cannot be met one way, then they must be satisfied another."

The relief on the Swiss doctor's face faltered and fell. Here was the sticking point. Could Angela Ziegler truly accept Amelie LaCroix in all her strings and shadows? Even Moira couldn't bear to keep her after the final _treatments_ finished what Talon started, making her the perfect killer. She was a Pygmalion folly. Loved for being the perfect creation, tossed aside for being what she was created to be.

" _How are you feeling, LaCroix"_

" _I don't feel. That's the point, isn't it?"_

Moira probably had been the one to set the kill switches. It would be in her nature, to have a fail safe. Little spiders couldn't be allowed to go off the reservation. Talon didn't allow its personel, it's _property_ to leave except in a body bag. Well, Talon could _aller se faire foutre._

If Mercy could perform this miracle, could set her free of Talon, Amelie would serve her well indeed.

"I see that all your basic needs are met." Mercy smiled, her whole face lighting up with the joy of having saved one more soul from Talon's clutches, "Leave it to me, Amelie, you can finally come home."

Amelie LaCroix smiled back, less exuberantly, but with genuine feeling. Yes. Maybe she had finally come home. Overwatch was soon going to find out if this was a blessing, or a curse.

" _Araignée du soir_ , hope."

To be continued in

Prisoner of Peace


End file.
